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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28069092">Little Big Things</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Warriors - Erin Hunter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>I found this sentence and it is one big fat error, I think that's what it is, Medicinal Drug Use, again i'm an expert on absolutely nothing, boi am i mad at me, but you know what, did this when i was sick so this is a little confusing, eating problems, got too chicken nugget the first time, he injured in this one so hmm, i'm not sure, is it a disorder this time? eeeehhhhhhh maybe not, part of the "yell at me whenever you see a tense switch" challenge, who gives a cake, yes i am reposting this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:15:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,063</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28069092</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He so desperately craves his mattress. </p><p>Something soft so sleep can drown him and throw away whatever this full, numb, agonizing sensation is. Whitty twists the cap and jerks two ovals from the bottle, setting them in front of the brunet.</p><p>"Here. That's all you should need for the next several hours."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tigerclaw &amp; Whitestorm (Warriors)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Little Big Things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Whitaker has somehow forced a dinner into him. It's small. A few forkfuls of peas, a chicken thigh, and a glass of juice. None of it smelled or looked appetizing at all to him, but he knew it was a side effect of his own disinterest and that it was no fault of Whitty's. He feels extremely full when he slumps over the table, groaning.</p><p>"I don't feel any better..."</p><p>"Give it time," Whitty instructs, a tad of worry seeping into his voice. "A few more minutes, then you can take the medicine, alright?"</p><p>Tyrone is too exhausted to reply. Pain throbs near the base of his spine, dull yet constant, dragging another moan out out him. Whitty begins to pace as Ty silently endures the turmoil within.</p><p>His stomach doesn't quite feel right.</p><p>Even with how little he's eaten, his abdomen feels stretched and sore, as if he sat down and engulfed a whole turkey or something. The nausea crawling up his throat isn't helping matters, but since he knows how long Whitty worked to finally get him to down something, he swallows at the saliva pooling in his mouth, bracing himself for another wave of pain.</p><p>His skull is throbbing wrapped around his brain; his eyes are sore. The parts of him that aren't pulsing in agony are numb from sitting in one place too long.</p><p>Whitty relents finally, snatching up the bottle so the room fills with a maraca rattle. Ty's too drowsy to joke about it.</p><p>He so desperately craves his mattress. Something soft so he can drown in sleep and forget whatever this full, numb, agonizing feeling is. He just wants to dissolve in the darkness that is a comforting sleep without seeing the faces of death. Whitty twists the cap and jerks two ovals from the bottle, setting them in front of the brunet.</p><p>"Here. That's all you should need for the next several hours."</p><p>Ty looks up at the two tiny pills, and immediately, his stomach drops.</p><p>They were so big. That would be a meal on its own.</p><p>He voices this to Whitty, who sighs quickly, and rushes to the cabinet to yank out an old looking device.</p><p>"Just cut them in half and take them." Ty doesn't want to address how desperate Whitty sounds, as the white-haired man sets a bottle of water in front of him. "Whenever you're ready. But try to do it soon, okay? I'm going home, but call me if anything gets worse."</p><p>He raises himself up a little, shocked. Then Ty realizes it's three in the morning. It was foolish of him to think that Whitty would nurse him forever, especially when he's probably the worst unofficial patient on earth. Gosh, he can't even eat a chicken thigh without gagging. He'd be dying to get away from himself if he were his best friend.</p><p>But Whitty says nothing according to the nature. He grabs his bag, leans down, and squeezes Ty in a brief hug.</p><p>"Maybe you should email Blaire and tell her you might not be able to come to work today."</p><p>"Okay," Ty croaks. In his current condition, the last person he wants to think about is his boss, but he conceals everything with a weak smile. "Thanks for coming over..."</p><p>"Anything for you, <em>muchacho</em>."</p><p>And almost in a blink of an eye, Whitty's gone.</p><p>Ty misses him instantly.</p><p>His heart thuds in his clenched throat as he stares at the pills and the water.</p><p>They have no aroma, unlike food. They are clear and white, devoid of true color. They'll ease his pains temporarily.</p><p>This should be easy. He shouldn't be afraid of it.</p><p>Somehow, he is.</p><p>Wordlessly, he plucks up one tiny, huge oval and opens up the contraption, squinting at the vertical blade. How did it go in?</p><p>A sudden wave sends needles through his blood, causing his hand to shake as he lowers the oval in the wide end of the triangle guide horizontally. He sets the lid down again, gently. The pressure isn't enough.</p><p>He slaps the plastic down with his palm, and a crack sounds. He lifts it up, and frowns. That wasn't perfectly in half.</p><p>One side was still too big, and even worse, both "halves" now contained sharp edges.</p><p>Ty feels a tiny bit helpless.</p><p> </p><p>But he follows the process with the second one and now he's staring at four big little jagged-edged pills that will rip into him when he tries to gulp them down.</p><p>All he wants to do is sleep.</p><p>And this may be his only gateway.</p><p>With this in mind, he plucks up one between his nails, readying himself with his bottle of water.</p><p>It wasn't too bad at first. Initially, it doesn't taste like anything, which he appreciates. He follows it with a sip of water, and expects to be ready to swallow and move on.</p><p>The pill is heavier than the water, and its presence in his mouth becomes more defined when it drifts and lands on his tongue. Ty freezes.</p><p>He attempts to gulp, but all he gets down is water. The medicine remains steadfast near the base of his tongue. He tries again, with a bigger mouthful of liquid, but instead of the water going quickly and sweeping the fragment with it, it leaks out into him, little by little. Once again, the medicine remains in his mouth. The water slams down into his belly, adding to the increasing sinking sensation.</p><p>He drains the whole bottle sip by sip, but it fails to work each time.  Bitterness explodes on his taste buds, dusty despite the moisture inside.</p><p>He refills the bottle at the fridge, and tries again with the dissolving bits of sand still sitting on his tongue. The only reason he gets it down is because it dissolved to nothing.</p><p>Ty tries with the next fragment, using larger gulps. It's not working.</p><p>It's too big.</p><p>Before it can even begin to leak bitterness, he swiftly stalks over to the sink and spits out a mouthful of water and a tiny jaded stone.</p><p>He gives up on it, and hobbles over to the couch, willing his exhaustion to take over. The pain prevents any opportunity of rest, so he flips the black-and-white television on an old game show, with a frail hope that it will distract him enough from the aching.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yes Tigerclaw is a Tyrone and I totally didn't do that because of the song</p><p>Whitaker is Whitestorm</p></blockquote></div></div>
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